they heard the whistle of the wild goats through
the clouds; pitching and strained on the shale below; hard-held between
shoulder and clenched jaw when they rounded the hideous curves of the
Cut Road under Bhagirati; swinging and creaking to the steady jog-trot
of the descent into the Valley of the Waters; pressed along the steamy
levels of that locked valley; up, up and out again, to meet the roaring
gusts off Kedarnath; set down of mid-days in the dun gloom of kindly
oak-forests; passed from village to village in dawn-chill, when even
devotees may be forgiven for swearing at impatient holy men; or by
torchlight, when the least fearful think of ghosts--the dooli has
reached her last stage. The little hill-folk sweat in the modified
heat of the lower Siwaliks, and gather round the priests for their
blessing and their wage.

'Ye have acquired merit,' says the lama. 'Merit greater than your
knowing. And ye will return to the Hills,' he sighs.

'Surely. The high Hills as soon as may be.' The bearer rubs his
shoulder, drinks water, spits it out again, and readjusts his grass
sandal. Kim--his face is drawn and tired--pays very small silver from
his belt, heaves out the food-bag, crams an oilskin packet--they are
holy writings--into his bosom, and helps the lama to his feet. The
peace has come again into the old man's eyes, and he does not look for
the hills to fall down and crush him as he did that terrible night when
they were delayed by the flooded river.

The men pick up the dooli and swing out of sight between the scrub
clumps.

The lama raises a hand toward the rampart of the Himalayas. 'Not with
you, O blessed among all hills, fell the Arrow of Our Lord! And never
shall I breathe your airs again!'

'But thou art ten times the stronger man in this good air,' says Kim,
for to his wearied soul appeal the well-cropped, kindly Plains. 'Here,
or hereabouts, fell the Arrow, yes. We will go very softly, perhaps, a
koss a day, for the Search is sure. But the bag weighs heavy.'

'Ay, our Search is sure. I have come out of great temptation.'

It was never more than a couple of miles a day now, and Kim's shoulders
bore all the weight of it--the burden of an old man, the burden of the
heavy food-bag with the locked books, the load of the writings on his
heart, and the details of the daily routine. He begged in the dawn,
set blankets for the lama's meditation, held the weary head on his lap
through the noonday